Murder in Marseille
by RandomPerson164
Summary: A series of murders in the South of France. A downed airplane. A missing reporter. What do these things have to do with each other? What are the murderers looking for? And can Ellie find Tintin before it's too late? Sequel to Legend of the Shadowwalker. R&R!
1. Prologue

A/N: Hello world! I'm RP164, as you already know, and this is the beginning of my second Tintin fanfic! (Hooray!) I'll warn you, you have to read my first fanfic, _Legend of the Shadowwalker._ Or not. Read it if you want to understand all of the OCs. But enough of that. Let's get to the story now…

The Adventures of Tintin: Murder in Marseille

Prologue

Fire. Twisted metal and fabric, littering the ground. The whole thing had happened in an instant, the wreckage falling out of the sky and plowing straight into the ground before anyone could say a word. The only sound was the faint crackle of the inferno, slowly inching away from the wreckage.

A single figure, just a silhouette against the flames, lay under a coil of iron, pinning him under. He felt lightheaded, as if the breath was being sucked out of him. He could barely see a thing. Looking up, he saw a dark, starless sky, inksplot clouds half-covering a bright full moon. He felt heat searing at his feet, and panic overtook him_. I have to get out,_ he thought, and struggled against the metal holding him down. He heard a whine beside him and turned, noticing a shivering white fuzzball on the ground beside him. "Snowy…" he murmured, using all of his strength to push the wreckage off of them both.

He dragged himself away from the blaze, his tan overcoat and sweater ripping on shards of metal. For a moment, there seemed to be no way out, no way to hide from the agony. Trees closed in around him, blocking his view of the sky with their close-knit limbs. He stopped and leaned against a trunk, the bark pressing into his back. He wiped his hand across his forehead to ward away the sweat that had accumulated, and saw with horror as it came down red. _I have to get out. I have to…_

He made himself stand and force his legs to hold his weight again. He looked around furiously. There was nothing: only the inferno behind him and the trees around him…

_Whhhrrrrrr…_

The sound of a passing car was music to his ears. He made himself run, run towards the noise, run towards the one place that he might find a way out.

-x-

He ran.

The Frenchman ran through the corridor, bad news weighing down his feet and almost keeping him from going in anyway. He'd run for what seemed like forever. And the mistake could've even cost his life. But he was betting against himself that he'd walk out of this alive.

He rounded a corner, entering a large room where three other men sat: one Asian, one European, the other American. He skidded to a halt in front of them, leaning against the wall to calm his breath. "Monsieur Takahashi! Monseiur Takahashi!"

"What is it, Lefevre?" the Asian snapped, staring at the Frenchman with black beady eyes.

"The plane went down! It was reported in the newspapers this morning!"

"And?" The American had blond hair, green eyes, and was holding a cigar between two fingers. "You'd better not have disappointed us. You know what it could cost you."

"The target, Monsieur Collins! He…he was not there!"

"What?" Takahashi banged his fist on the table in front of him. "I told you to make sure he was dead!"

"_Je suis désolé__, monsieur!_ I'm sorry! I-I tried, but he, he–"

_BANG._

The European took his hand out from under the table and set a gun on the top. The Frenchman collapsed, his unseeing eyes wide open with shock, the last thing he would ever feel in his life.

Takahashi turned to the European. "Thank you, Mr. Blevins. He was getting on my nerves as well."

Blevins nodded, turning to his two comrades. "We must find him before he reaches Paris. We can not afford to let him escape."

Collins smiled, showing off less-than-white teeth. "Leave that to me."


	2. Chapter 1: The Tintin Section

A/N: Hey guys! I'm just going to say that I have read all of your comments on Shadowwalker and the prologue of Marseille, and I will make sure that this story will be better than the one before! Especially the ending; that wasn't my best work, I admit. (And we'll see more of Ellie in this too.) But now to the story.

Chapter One – The Tintin Section

It was almost night on Mockingbird Road.

A figure was rummaging around in a back room, cleaning and replacing every glass for tomorrow's workday. The figure stood again, satisfied with her work, and grabbed a beige coat and a newsboy hat from off the corner table, reappearing in the dimming light of the café. She draped the coat over her shoulders, setting the hat on her head over her platinum blond hair. The brim cast a shadow over her strikingly green eyes.

Ellie Baxter, co-owner of Baxter's Café, took a look out at the many booths and tables that littered the floor of the café. She was surprised to see a man sitting at a corner booth. Not so much a man, she thought, but a boy, probably just around sixteen. He was definitely Asian, with the almond-shaped eyes and the black hair that slightly covered his right eye. He drummed his fingers on the table anxiously.

"Sir, we're closing up," Ellie said to him, standing in front of the booth. "You'll have to come back tomorrow."

"I'm looking for someone," he replied. His accent told Ellie that he was Chinese, but he obviously knew English well.

"Looking for whom, exactly? And why are you looking here?"

"My friend has been here before. He's told me that much."

Ellie sat down across from the Chinese, pulling a notebook from her coat pocket. "Describe him for me, then. If he ever comes back around I'll tell him you're looking for him."

"Alright. He's not so tall," the Chinese started, drumming his fingers on the table once again. "He has ginger hair, growing up longer in the front, and he owns a white fox terrier that may have followed him in…" He stopped speaking when he stopped hearing the scratch of a pencil on paper.

Ellie looked back up from her notes. "Why are you looking for Tintin?"

The Chinese's eyebrows went up. He surely wasn't expecting her to know him immediately. "You know him?"

"I do. As a matter of fact, he was here not too long ago." Ellie shrugged sympathetically. "But he's left for Marseille to follow another story. I'm afraid you've just missed him."

"Hmm…" The Chinese stared down at the table, deep in thought.

"I can tell him you came by. I know the telephone number of the hotel he's staying at in Marseille." She took out the notebook again. "What's your name?"

"Chang Chong-Chen."

Ellie scribbled that down, then stuffed the notebook in her pocket. "I'll ring him soon and give him the message."

"Thank you." Chang stood. "May I ask your name?"

"Ellie Baxter. I kind of run the place."

"Of course. Thank you, Ellie Baxter." He smiled, then started for the door.

Ellie remained where she stood, watching him leave and pulling her cap a little lower over her forehead. "Good evening, Chang Chong-Chen."

-x-

The next morning came with the chatter of magpies and warm sunlight streaming through the windows. Ellie looked around the sitting room in the apartment she and her father lived in. Books about ancient civilizations were on every available table, opened up to random pages. There was even more paper, piled up everywhere – from the bookshelf to spare corners of floor. Through all of the clutter, she spotted a bundle of black-and-white print on the floor, snatching it up and untying the many pages of news. _Why does Father always lead the newspaper right in the middle of all of his clutter?_

She scanned the articles. The news was the same it always was: glorified politicians' speeches and special conferences that did absolutely nothing. It was on the second page – "the Tintin section," as she called it, since this was where his stories always seemed to go – that she got to the real news. She saw Tintin's profile to the right of the article, but it was not he who had written it.

The headline was _**PLANE CRASH OUTSIDE REIMS, TWO MISSING.**_ She kept reading.

PARIS – Last night at around midnight, a Belgian plane bound for Marseille crash-landed in a field just outside Reims, running into a set of train tracks and barely missing an oak grove. The plane's engine had flamed out, said the plane's captain and he had been unable to regain control before they hit the ground. Two of the passengers of the flight are missing: a French crewman, Pierre Lefevre, and Belgian reporter Tintin. Other passengers say that the boy reporter had just gotten up from his seat and disappeared into a back room when the plane's engine caught fire. Paris officials have suggested foul play, and detectives are currently looking into the suggestion. Should foul play be discovered, the boy reporter would be at the top of the suspect list.

Ellie stared at the picture of the fiery wreckage that was posted right under the article, shaking her head worriedly. _Chang would be very upset…_She knew she had to do something. She threw down the newspaper, digging around the apartment for her suitcase. _I'm not going to sit here and do nothing._

"Where are you going, Elizabeth?"

Ellie smiled. Her dad was definitely careful of where she went, but he was working right now. She could hear it in his voice. "France. I'm visiting a friend there for a little while. I won't be gone too long."

"…Someone has to run the shop," the voice called back.

"Get Lenny to do it. He's always looking for more pay." Ellie wasn't the only one who worked the café, although it seemed that way sometimes.

"Lenny's gone…gone to Wales to visit family…"

"Lenny's gone?" Ellie echoed._ That's odd. He's never said anything about family in Wales…_ "Well, get someone else to do it. I'm leaving for Paris tomorrow."

"Alright." The conversation ended there.

Ellie shook her head, stuffing more clothing and such into her suitcase. _He could sell me off to Koreans if he was in the middle of something._


	3. Chapter 2: Color Blind

A/N: To celebrate the 68th anniversary of D-Day, the day the Allies invaded the French city of Normandy to try to claim it again, I'm posting this outside of my normal updating days (Friday to Sunday, usually). Why? This fanfic takes place in France. Enjoy!

Chapter Two – Color-Blind

That was his first thought. _Am I color-blind?_

He'd woken up with a throbbing head and an anxious tightness in his chest. It took effort to open his eyes, and even then he had to squint just to keep them open. He was lying down in a bed in a strange room. Everything looked like a picture off of a black-and-white television set. White ceiling, gray walls, dark gray flooring, even the black duvet covering the rest of him.

He sat up, instinctively reaching up to rub his head. He stopped when he felt something like soft cloth around it. At some time while he was unconscious it had been wrapped up. _But who did it?_

He got to his feet and walked over to the door on the far side of the room, his legs wobbling underneath him, and jiggled the handle. It opened easily, revealing a blue-painted hallway stretching at least a twenty feet in both directions_. Well, at least I'm not color-blind._ A door was open on the left side. He let himself in.

The room before him looked like something out of a country village: a set of cabinets lining the back wall, a small wooden table in the middle of the room, surrounded by four matching chairs with intricate carvings on the sides. A brown-haired man sat in one of the chairs, cradling a coffee mug in his hands. He looked up when he heard him arrive. "Ah, good morning, Monsieur Tintin," he said with a smile. A French accent ringed his words. "I trust you had a good rest?"

"Yes, thank you," Tintin managed, taking the seat across from him. "But…who are you? How did I get here?"

"My name is Wyatt Partisan. You are in my home in Brocourt-en-Argonne. As for your other question, I was driving home from a meeting in Paris when I saw you lying unconscious by the road. I saw that your head was bleeding, so I wrapped it up and brought you back to my home."

"Thank you, Monsieur Partisan," Tintin replied gratefully. _I must not have made it to the road in time._ He dug into his pocket, searching for coins. "I owe you my life. Surely I can repay you somehow…"

"No. I will not accept money from you, monsieur." Partisan shook his head. "I am happy as long as you are not hurt…"

"Snowy." Tintin had almost forgotten about his best friend. "Sir, did you also pick up a–"

"Woah! Woah!" Two more figures ran into the room: a small white dog, and a young brown-haired girl no older than six. The dog ran a few circles around the girl, then plopped himself down beside Tintin's feet, his tail wagging furiously.

"Snowy!" Tintin said with a smile, reaching down to scratch his friend behind the ears. "Where have you been?"

"Yes, he was there with you, barking and howling like something had bitten his tail off." Partisan smiled. "He was good company for my daughter, Adrienne." He nodded to the young girl.

Adrienne stared up at Tintin with wide eyes, possessing the same toddler curiosity that some have said he's never grown out of. After a few seconds of her staring at Tintin, Tintin staring back at her, and monsieur Partisan watching both of them, she ran forward and hugged Tintin's leg, almost stepping on Snowy in the process.

"She's heard of you," Partisan whispered, giving Tintin a wink.

Tintin smiled. "Well, it's nice to hear that I'm heard of." He thought back to the plane. "I have to get back to Paris."

"Yes, I heard about the crash earlier this morning," Partisan said with a nod. "Do not worry, Monsieur Tintin. I am going to another meeting in Paris tomorrow. I will take you then."

"Thank you again for your help, monsieur."

"_Hourra!__Tintin__est de rester__avec nous__!"_ Adrienne started laughing, chasing after Snowy again.

Tintin smiled. It was going to be hard not to miss this kid.

A/N: Ah, don't you just love little kids? :-) There at the end, Adrienne said, "Hooray! Tintin is staying with us!" I love little kids. Anyways, more action to come in later updates!

PS, Brocourt-en-Argonne is a small French village about 40 miles directly east of Reims. (It's longer if you take the roads.)

PPS (so many P's :D), I'm also looking for a person to draw covers for my stories because I'm terrible at drawing using Microsoft Paint. So if there are any art whizzes out there who enjoy these stories, PM me – or send me an anonymous comment, if you don't have an account – and tell me that you're interested! Thanks :)


	4. Chapter 3: Seven thirty to Paris

Chapter Three – Seven-Thirty to Paris

Ellie got to the train station early. Her train left at seven-thirty, but it was only seven-ten now. _Plenty of time,_ she thought, _to check up on the news._ She had picked up a newspaper and searched for her train. It took her about fifteen minutes and probably a thousand excuse me's before she was able to reach it. She boarded the train, finding a window seat in the back and wedging her suitcase between herself and the wall. She took the newspaper from under her arm and opened it up in front of her. Today's headline: _**MORE ON REIMS PLANE CRASH. **__Such an original title, _Ellie thought, and started reading.

Interpol detectives Thompson and Thomson have been

investigating yesterday's crash outside Reims. So

far, they have not been able to approve of the foul play

notion introduced by Paris officials. "However," they say, "we

are not ceasing the investigation until we can find out

what happened here. If someone did sabotage this

flight, we will be sure to apprehend the saboteur and

bring him to justice."

A voice from in front her brought her back to the real world. "Excuse me, ma'am, where did you get that newspaper?"

"Oh, I got this in the station," she answered quickly, not recognizing the voice. "It's only twenty francs if you…" She put the newspaper down to look at who was speaking to her. It was only then that she noticed the almond-shaped eyes and distinct Chinese accent. "Oh, hello Chang," she said, smiling at her own stupidity. "You're heading to Paris too?"

Chang looked just as surprised as she did. "Hello, Ellie. Yes, I am. I heard about Tintin's flight." He said the last few words with a somber tone in his voice.

Ellie handed him the newspaper. "The story is on the second page."

"Thank you." Chang took it and sat down in the seat beside her. "I don't think it's an accident," he added after looking over the article. "And there's no way Tintin could have done anything."

"I agree. Why would someone of his importance sabotage his own plane?" Ellie glanced out the train's window, watching the station slowly move away and the train emerging into the open air. "More importantly, where would he be now?"

Silence. Then Chang spoke.

"The only way we can figure that out is to go to the scene of the crash and look for any clues."

Ellie watched central Brussels fly past them, the city starting to thin out a little, and smiled. "I have a plan."

-x-

"Not much longer, Snowy. We're almost to Paris."

The white dog whined a little more.

Tintin was riding in the passenger seat in Partisan's car, holding Snowy in his lap and looking out over the trees at the Paris skyline. They had somehow managed to get out of the house, despite little Adrienne's pleads for him to stay, and he was just minutes away from getting back on track of his investigation. He'd obviously missed his plane – it left without him ages ago – so he'd have to get a new ticket. And I'll probably have to find a hotel too, he thought to himself.

"If you don't mind my asking," Partisan said, interrupting Tintin's thoughts, "why are you in Paris?"

Tintin glanced back at his host. "It's funny, really. I'm really just on my way to Marseille, to investigate something down there."

"Hmm. And what are you investigating, exactly?"

"There's been a series of murders in southern France. Monaco, Nice, Sanary-sur-Mer, and most recently, Marseille. I don't know much more than that."

"Interesting."

Silence hung between them – even Snowy was silent – until Partisan stopped in front of a hotel in central Paris: the Grand Hotel Du Loiret, just a short walk from the river Seine.

"Thank you for your help, monsieur Partisan," Tintin said, stepping out of the car into the busy Parisian sidewalks, Snowy at his heels. "I still feel like I owe you something."

Partisan smiled. "Don't worry. You might end up repaying me later." With that, he closed the car door and drove off, blending into the traffic and disappearing from view.

-x-

It was just hours past dawn when Tintin had arrived in Paris. It was nearly dusk when his companions followed him there.

Unknown to the boy reporter, once Ellie and Chang arrived in the City of Light, they had immediately found a hotel – a beautiful one in central Paris called the Grand Hotel Du Loiret. Once they claimed their separate rooms – if you ask the receptionist of the hotel they couldn't possibly know each other – they snatched up their possessions needed for Ellie's plan and hired a car to take them out to the outskirts of Reims.

"This plan isn't going to work," Chang murmured, holding his camera in his hands and staring down at it carefully. "What if –"

"It'll work. Besides, I have this." She showed him the card once more, then stuffed it in her coat pocket.

"Where did you get that anyway?"

"…I borrowed it."

A/N: Just a quick note: the francs mentioned above are Belgian francs, and were replaced by the Euro in 2002. One Belgian franc is worth about 0.025 Euro, while it also equals 0.03 American dollar.


	5. Chapter 4: Captains, Cameras, and Clues

Chapter Four – Captains, Cameras, and Clues

"Blistering barnacles! How could Tintin have just _disappeared_ out of thin air?"

It was two days after first word of the crash reached out into Europe. Now, outside of Reims, three figures stood, examining the wreckage: two calm, mustachioed detectives…and one red-faced, yelling sea captain.

"We're trying the best we can, Captain," Thomson said. "Tintin is not being easy to find at the moment."

"To be precise," Thompson replied, "it may be a moment before we can find Tintin."

"Artichokes! Nitwits! Brigands! Lily-livered landlubbers!" Captain Haddock kept raving on. "You can't find someone if you aren't even looking for them! Thundering typhoons, I –" He stopped when he heard footsteps coming from the road behind him. He turned.

Two people were approaching him: one a European girl, the other a Chinese boy, both probably just around seventeen. The girl was wearing a trench coat and newsboy cap, holding a notebook and pencil in her hands. The boy had his head down, fiddling with his camera, seemingly just following the girl in front of him. The girl, probably hearing the last bits of the Captain's reply, stopped when he and the detectives turned her way, the Chinese almost running into her. "I'm sorry, am I interrupting anything?"

"No, of course not," the detectives said in unison. The Captain noticed the girl do a double-take, looking at both men and trying to decide if there were two of them or if her eyes were playing tricks.

"Who are you?" The Captain asked, crossing his arms in front of him and eyeing her carefully.

"My name is Alexis Freeman," she said with a smile, digging a card out of her pocket and handing it to the detectives. "I'm a reporter for the London Evening Standard."

Both Thompsons looked at the card carefully. "Your press credentials check out," they said, and handed it back.

Ellie smiled a little wider. _Thank you, Alexis._

"Is that Chang?" The Captain was staring past Ellie at Chang, who still had his head bent over the camera.

"Him?" Ellie asked, looking back at him. "His name is Yin Fang-Si. He doesn't speak much English," she added when Chang looked up. "He's my photographer."

"Hmm." The Captain still looked suspicious, but didn't say anything.

Ellie turned to Chang. "Yin, go take pictures," she said slowly, as if he really didn't speak English, and gestured to the camera. Translation: _Go look for any clues and _pretend_ you're taking pictures._

Chang looked blank-faced for a moment, then nodded, walking off toward the wreckage.

Ellie flipped open her notebook, directing her questions to the detectives. "Tell me about the passengers, detectives. What happened to them?"

"All came out alive, with a few cuts and bruises, of course," Thomson started. "Except for two. A crewmember and a Belgian reporter."

"That Tintin kid?" She pretended she'd only heard of him, not looking up from her notes.

"Indeed," Thompson added. "We've discovered how the plane went down just today: a plastic explosive, planted beside one of the engines before takeoff. The flight was sabotaged."

"Sabotage," the Captain murmured under his breath.

"We believe that Tintin is the saboteur, based on passenger witnesses. Several people mentioned that they saw him walking towards the back rooms of the plane, where the engines _were_ located, just before the crash."

"But don't worry; we're still searching for him. Once we find him, he will be dealt with according to his offences."

Ellie kept writing as they continued, taking a quick glance up at her "photographer." _Hurry up, Chang…_

-x-

Chang was crouching down next to the wreckage, pretending to get a better shot of the charred pile of metal that used to be a plane. But his eyes were looking past the camera.

Tucked under a coil of iron, there was a strip of fabric: burned almost to a crisp, but still unmistakably blue. Just five feet away, a white piece of fuzz sat under more wreckage.

_They were here,_ he thought to himself. _But where did he go?_

Glancing back at the preoccupied men, he ran into the trees, looking around for any signs of a struggle. They weren't too hard to find. The undergrowth was torn up for about ten yards, designating someone dragging themselves or being dragged; and at the end of the faint trail, a tree was marked with a brush stroke of dark crimson. _He was here._

A few minutes later, Chang stopped one more time. There was another mark of red near the base of a tree just inside the tree line. It had to be from the same person. _He took a car,_ Chang reasoned, _or someone picked him up from here. He could be anywhere by now._

He took a few minutes more to snap pictures of his findings, then emerged from the trees and took a few pictures of the wreckage for good measure. He approached Ellie, who was still interviewing the detectives, and tapped on her shoulder, pointing up at the darkening sky.

"You're right, Yin," she said slowly, tucking the notebook away in her pocket. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but we must be going. We'll be sure to return tomorrow to continue the interview."

"It's quite all right, Miss Freeman," Thomson said with a nod, mirroring his coworker. "We will be heading out soon as well."

Ellie tipped her hat to the three, receiving goodbyes from them all – except for the Captain, who said nothing – and together she and Chang headed out.

Silence hung between them for a moment. Then Thompson spoke up.

"Hukow!"

"Hukow?" Thomson looked at his colleague confusedly.

"Yes! That Chinese boy, we saw him in Hukow! Don't you remember? He was with…" The detectives look at each other.

"Tintin!"

A/N: Longest chapter ever, right? Haha yeah. It was long, but necessary. After all, you can't write more than one Tintin fanfic in a series without the Captain! Keep reading!


	6. Chapter 5: Bound For Marseille

Chapter Five – Bound For Marseille

Tintin looked down at the ground, his mind buzzing with the many thoughts that had come up during his time so far in France.

_The Captain will be worried about me._ No doubt, he would have heard about the plane wreck in the newspapers, and he would have the mind to at least ask around and try to figure out where he went._ I'll have to call him once I get to Marseille. Who knows where he thinks I am now!_

_I'm late for my meeting._ He had set up a meeting with the local detective and a witness of the latest murder, the one that happened at Anse de Malmousque in Marseille. _It was supposed to be at Bar de la Grande Terrasse, about…_ Tintin looked at his watch. _…Two days ago._ He didn't doubt they were wondering what had happened to him, but he also knew that they'd most likely come forward again if he asked them.

_The hotel might not have kept my reservation_. That wasn't as much of a problem. This type of situation has come his way a few times, and it was never a problem then either. The hotel always kept his reservation. Any belongings that he may have left thinking he would be back were returned to him. And even if his hotel didn't keep his reservation this time, he hadn't left anything there, so he could always just find another place to stay. Marseille was a tourist city, so hotels were plentiful.

_Don't worry about anything, Tintin,_ he told himself, picking up the newspaper that Snowy had been lying on in his lap. The dog growled, then settled back down as he started reading. _Everything will end up just fine._

-x-

What he didn't know was that he was being followed.

But his followers didn't even know he was there.

Two figures sat in the back of the plane, caps pulled over their heads and shading their eyes from the soft light of the plane's interior. The person at the window seat was looking out at the views of France below them, and the other was reading a newspaper. They were silent, until the person with the newspaper put it down and looked at his companion. "This doesn't make sense," he said quietly, hiding his words in the din. "How are we supposed to find Tintin? He has to be in Marseille – he wouldn't just leave his story behind without a fight – but _where_?"

"I know the hotel he's staying at, Chang," his companion replied, retrieving a paper from her coat pocket and unfolding it. "_Residence Du Vieux Port_, on Quai du Port. If they kept his reservation, then we can catch him at the hotel!"

"This is not going to end well, Ellie," Chang murmured, looking back down at his newspaper. "If I know Tintin, he's going to need help very soon."

Ellie smiled. "Then we'll get there soon."

-x-

They didn't know that _they_ were being followed either. But this time, the followers were traveling by car.

"Wouldn't it be faster if we had, oh I don't know, taken a _plane_?" The Captain was not happy, to say it nicely. He was sitting in the backseat of a black Mercedes, arms crossed as if that would protect him from whatever bad luck is going to be inflicted on him by being driven to the South of France by the Thompsons.

"Yes, but that would be the predictable choice!" Thomson replied, keeping his eyes on the road before them.

"To be precise," Thompson added, "our choice is only a prediction."

"But we're going to Marseille," the Captain said suddenly.

Thompson looked slightly annoyed for a moment. "I know that already! Why do you doubt me, Captain?"

"…Because you just took the wrong turnoff!"

"Good heavens, Thomson!" his colleague said. "Watch where you're driving!"

Thomson suddenly jerked the wheel around, making a U-turn and almost hitting five other cars in the process. He proceeded to jerk the wheel around a few more times before steadying the car on the road. "Sorry Thompson, I only got distracted for a moment."

"By what?"

The Captain stopped listening to the conversation there and shook his head, holding onto his seat to brace himself for Thomson's crazy driving. _I'll be lucky to be alive by the time we make it to Marseille…_ He heard something overhead and looked out the window. A commercial airliner streaked past the sky above them. _Why didn't we just take a plane?_

-x-

If this was a book and the reader finally got to this section of the chapter, they would probably put down the book right now and go read another book, probably one that involves a little more guns and suspense. That's because this section is about _another_ group of people in _another_ place having _another_ conversation. So if you really want to find out what happens, keep on reading. If not, you can't leave now. There's still a fanfic for you to read and for me to finish. But if you do leave, fine. You've been warned.

Are you still there? Good. Let's get on with the story.

It was raining in Paris, coming down in thick sheets over the landscape. There were two people standing in a dark alley, trench coats over their shoulders and fedoras shading their eyes.

"What do you mean, you didn't get him? He wanted him dead!" The first man was European, with a Welsh accent and dark eyes marked with fury.

"I tried!" The second man, the American, replied forcefully. "Don't start putting words in my mouth, Blevins. I –"

"You failed!" Blevins rammed his fist into the American's face, hearing the satisfying pop of breaking bone. "He should've never decided to hire you. You aren't _worth_ being a part of this operation."

Collins wiped the blood off his cheek. "Oh?" he asked in mock surprise. "And I thought I was important." His accent suddenly turned into that of an Australian. "Besides, if it weren't for me you wouldn't know about the original treasure in the first place."

"You were barely a convincing Australian, Collins. I'm surprised anyone believed you." Blevins pulled a gun and clicked off the safety. "And thank you for information on the treasure. It's a real kick-start for the operation." He clicked the trigger, and then walked away.

_Goodbye Collins. Or should I say, Anteros._

If you just read this and gasped dramatically, congratulations. You actually stuck around to read it. Let me tell you now: if this was a real book then all of the people who left would be still looking for another good book. The lesson that was learned today: never abandon a good story.

A/N: I added that last part because this chapter was too boring when I read it over (and it made it longer; I've gotten requests for my fanfic chapters to be longer, so it is). Also, I've gotten a few reviews from anonymous people and I'd just like to thank you for your kind reviews and I hope you'll enjoy the next chapters! ~RP164


	7. Chapter 6: Midnight Recon

A/N: Thank you anonymous reviewer "Loving This Story" for enjoying the story! I'm glad you think that I'm writing well. I hope you (and any other anonymous readers who may be out there) enjoy the next chapters! ~RP164

Chapter Six – Midnight Recon

Ellie set her suitcase down on the bed and took another look around the room.

It was nine-thirty at night, just fifteen minutes after the landing of the Parisian flight to the south of France. She and Chang had found a hotel near the Residence Du Vieux Port and got a room – he made sure it had two beds, not just one. The view was amazing: the sun looked like half of an orange sitting on the crystal blue waters of the Mediterranean, and it threw off warm amber light that streamed almost lazily through the windows. She sat on her bed facing them and let the sun warm her face.

Chang sat down on the other bed and yawned, stretching his arms stiffly. "I'm going to go to sleep, Ellie. We need sleep to focus on the task at hand."

"Alright, Chang," she said, looking over her shoulder for a moment. "I'll just get settled in a bit more, then go to sleep."

"You do that."

The light went out behind her, so she closed the blinds and let him sleep. He needed it – he had hardly slept on the plane. She barely moved an inch for ten minutes, until she heard the quiet snores of her friend behind her. Then she silently opened her suitcase and pulled out a bundle of black cloth. For a moment she paused and reminded herself of what she was here for. _We have to find Tintin. He could be in trouble. We don't know where he is…_ Her next thought was what surprised her. _He's close. I can feel it._

_Don't be silly. You can't feel anything._ Sure, he had been her role model since she first heard of him in the newspapers – his first exploit she'd heard of had been his investigation of the exploding oil, a story she's heard called "Land of Black Gold" – and since reading that she'd always wished that she could do the things he'd done, go the places he'd gone, and learn the things he'd learned. She'd always secretly hoped that he would stop by the café one day, maybe order a drink, and just be able to tell her more about his experiences. _And I've always wanted to tell him that–_

She shook her head again. _No, don't start on that. He barely knows me, it's a silly thought. You won't get anywhere daydreaming like that._ Gripping the small black bundle just a little tighter, she stepped into the next room, closing the door behind her.

Just a minute later, a black figure emerged, green eyes surrounded by a mask of exposed fair skin. The figure fluidly slipped down the stairs and emerged into the hotel's lobby at the bottom. A pair of double doors stood at the far left side. This was where the figure left the building, stepping out into the air.

In the receding light of day, the Shadowwalker took one look back at the hotel, then walked off into the city.

-x-

The Shadowwalker strolled through the city like any other person would in the day, head held high and with a confident stride. Unlike during the day, there was no one speaking or bumping into them, and all of the cars were either returned to their owners' homes or resting on the sides of the road. A few wrappers and newspapers littered the sidewalk, news from days past fluttering in the wind. A few headlines were picked out as they passed: "…1932 comic cover breaks million-euro mark at auction," "More on Cannes Film Festival," "French government to boycott football matches in Ukraine…"

A disembodied voice made them look up from heir walk.

"Yes, I know exactly what I want. The problem is your not doing it!"

The Shadowwalker noticed three things about the voice. It had a Chinese accent. It sounded strained; whoever had been speaking was yelling, and obviously wasn't pleased. And it came from the direction of the docks, to their right just behind a row of small buildings. The Shadowwalker stepped forward, glancing around the corner of a small closed boutique to get a close look. Two men were standing on the bow of the _Ladja iščete_, a large cargo ship that floated in the harbor about three hundred yards away. The Chinese was dressed formally in a suit and a rain jacket over it, while the other wore the fatigues of a European mariner. There was a white design marking the breast of the Chinese man's jacket, a white rectangle with a white line striking through its middle. The European was holding a wooden crate in his arms, and he looked like he was just about to walk away on the conversation at any moment.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Takahashi. But –"

"My name is of _no_ importance to you, sir. But this crate must make it to Hong Kong _undisturbed_ and _unopened_. You can do that, yes?"

"Yeah, of course I can do that."

"Good. If you do not…do you have life insurance, sir? You might need it."

Without another word, the European turned on his heels and walked away, disappearing down a staircase into the hold. Takahashi, obviously amused by his flight, stepped from the ship onto the concrete of the loading platform and walked down the avenue as if he had all the time in the world.

Under a black mask, the Shadowwalker smiled, stepping back and starting down another street in the other direction. _That's what you think, monsieur._

A/N: The news stories mentioned above are real. You can look them up and they'll be right there. Of course, it's 2012 news. That's why I didn't mention any dates at all :)


	8. Chapter 7: Down to Business

Chapter Seven – Down to Business

"Good evening, monsieur! We were afraid we wouldn't see you."

Tintin picked up his suitcase again, giving the receptionist a smile. He'd come to his hotel right after his plane landed at the airport, in the nick of time to see the beautiful sunset over the city's skyline. Luckily, nothing bad had happened on this plane – if you don't count Snowy being yelled at by someone who was allergic to dogs on the plane and almost getting crushed by a falling suitcase while they during landing as _bad_ – and he just wanted to get settled in and get started on his investigation.

"We kept your reservation," the receptionist continued, handing him a room key. "You're on the second floor."

"Thank you." He took hold of the key and started up to his room. Residence Du Vieux Port was a very modern hotel, but Tintin barely noticed this as he stepped into the elevator to his room. Within a minute of arriving on the second floor he was asleep, jet lag and a little worry settling down on him and forcing him into a nice long rest.

-x-

The next morning proved to be a beautiful one: birds were chirping, the sun was throwing warm light through the windows, and the waves of the Mediterranean Sea lapped lazily against the shores to the south. This view was soaked in by the intrepid boy reporter Tintin as he stared out the window, a phone receiver clamped to his ear. The dial tone provided plain background music for the bobbing boats in the port before him. He snapped back into reality when he heard a voice on the other end.

"_Bonjour_, Detective Trouver. _Oui_. Yes, this is Tintin." He glanced back at the clock on the nightstand beside his bed. It was almost ten o'clock. The detective asked why he was late. "My plane was, er, held up." He shrugged as if he was really talking to the man on the other end of the call face-to-face. "Yes, I wasn't able to keep our appointment. Is there a chance that I can reschedule? Yes? _Très bon_, very good! Is noon a good time for you? _Oui_, _oui_. I'll meet you at the same place, Detective. _Au revoir_!"

He put down the phone, exhaling loudly. "That was better than I expected," he murmured to himself, another thought popping into his mind. "The Captain!" he grabbed the receiver and dialed Marlinspike Hall.

"Hello?" The British voice was easy to recognize. _Nestor._ It was no surprise that he answered rather than the Captain; lately the Captain seemed very annoyed with phones for whatever reason.

"Hello. Is Captain Haddock available?"

"No, sir. He's currently in France right now…Wait a moment, are you –"

Tintin hung up before Nestor could say another word.

-x-

Two hours later, Tintin stood in front of the small café pressed between a building and a small pathway leading out to the Mediterranean waters. The_ Bar de la Grande __Terrasse_ was hardly impressive: a small glass window front, a few tables scattered throughout the inside of the building with two outside, and at least four chairs at each table, with a few more clustered at the tables in the front. He looked down at his feet. "Snowy, you need to stay outside, alright?"

Snowy rolled his eyes and sat down outside the door, watching the few pedestrians that happened to pass by with intense focus. Tintin smiled down at him and stepped inside.

Sitting at a table pushed against the back wall was a rather portly man wearing a dark brown leather jacket and looking through a file. He looked up from the documents and smiled. "Bonjour, Monsieur Tintin. Have a seat." He spoke with the accent of a person who learned the English language very carefully.

"Thank you, Detective Trouver," Tintin said with a smile, sitting opposite of the man. "I'm sorry I couldn't make our last meeting."

"Oh, it's quite all right," the detective replied. "I understand completely. Now, let's get down to business, shall we?"

Tintin nodded, reaching into the pocket of his coat for his notebook. His hand brushed some kind of rough material. _What on earth is that? _He paused for only a moment before fishing out the notebook and flipping it open. _...Forget about it for now. I'll take a look later._ "So detective, can you tell me about the murders?"

Trouver handed him a small envelope. Inside were pictures: soaking-wet bodies, pictures of different Mediterranean landscapes, and close-ups of jewelry pieces. "As you already know, all of the murders happened along the Mediterranean coastline, heading west toward Spain and Andorra. But that isn't the strangest part. You see those jewelry pieces there? Do you notice anything strange about any of them?"

Tintin took a closer look at the photos. There were four of jewelry pieces: a gold ring, an expensive-looking silver watch, and two different pendants. But the detective was right; there _was_ something strange about them. "These should all have stones on them, shouldn't they?"

"Precisely. This fact, besides the relative locations that the bodies were found, is the only thing we have connecting the murders. Whoever is doing this is trying to collect multiple priceless gems, presumably for resale. That's our biggest concern at the moment. Have you heard of the Blood Ruby by any chance, Monsieur Tintin?"

"No, I haven't. What is it?"

"Let me show you then."

A/N: I decided to break this chapter into two, because it was really long as it was. Let's find out what the Blood Ruby is…in the next update!


	9. Chapter 8: Blood Ruby

Chapter Eight – Blood Ruby

_**Previously…**_

"_So detective, can you tell me about the murders?"_

_Trouver handed him a small envelope. Inside were pictures: soaking-wet bodies, pictures of different Mediterranean landscapes, and close-ups of jewelry pieces. "As you already know, all of the murders happened along the Mediterranean coastline, heading west toward Spain and Andorra. But that isn't the strangest part. You see those jewelry pieces there? Do you notice anything strange about any of them?"_

_Tintin took a closer look at the photos. There were four of jewelry pieces: a gold ring, an expensive-looking silver watch, and two different pendants. But the detective was right; there was something strange about them. "These should all have stones on them, shouldn't they?"_

"_Precisely. This fact, besides the relative locations that the bodies were found, is the only thing we have connecting the murders. Whoever is doing this is trying to collect multiple priceless gems, presumably for resale. That's our biggest concern at the moment. Have you heard of the Blood Ruby by any chance, Monsieur Tintin?"_

"_No, I haven't. What is it?" _

"_Let me show you then."_

Trouver produced another photo from inside of the file folder and set it on the table. It featured a beautiful dark red, almost black gem, surrounded by gold and hanging from an unseen hook by a matching gold chain. Even though he wasn't viewing it in person, Tintin could see the light refracting off of the many surfaces, creating its own special glow that appeared to radiate from the inside. But it was slightly distorted; _it must be encased in bulletproof glass_. "This is the Blood Ruby," Trouver continued. "It's the highlight of one of our local museums, _Muséum__d'histoire naturelle de Marseille_. It has quite a legend behind it, if you don't mind my telling you."

"I don't mind at all," Tintin responded, starting to scratch down his words onto the paper. "Was it mined by slaves, by any chance?" _I hope this isn't another problem like that mess in the Congo._

"No, it wasn't. In fact, it has nothing to with slavery at all, although it does have quite a bloody story behind it. Allow me to explain. Supposedly, this stone was worn in a gold ring on the finger of one of the senators of ancient Rome, who also happened to be one of the approximately 60 men who had stabbed Julius Caesar and caused his death. And according to that story, this stone was originally a flawless white diamond. But after Caesar's assassination, the man wearing it tried to clean off the blood that had accumulated, but was unsuccessful. The blood had soaked into and stained the surface of the diamond so it would turn it permanently red, the color you see today. That's one reason that it gained its name."

"Fascinating." Tintin took another look at the photograph. It wasn't hard to imagine the beauty in the middle of the Roman Empire – or anywhere that housed the rich and powerful, for that matter.

"But there is even longer story than that, monsieur. For centuries after the fall of Caesar and the Roman Empire, the stone was passed from royal to royal, place to place, dozens of times. And much like the Hope Diamond currently being exhibited in the American Smithsonian Natural History Museum, it has gained the thought of being cursed. Ever since the early 1200s, it has been recorded that almost every person who had come into possession of the Blood Ruby had been killed by a stab wound in their head or midsection as early in their life as the age of 18. The few exceptions include Afonso V of Portugal, who for a brief time had it placed into the Portuguese crown jewels, and a man named Louis Cartier, who was the owner before he gave it to the museum. He had said he'd heard of the curse and didn't want to be its next victim."

"If you don't mind my asking," Tintin said as he recorded the detective's final words, "is there a chance that I can visit the museum tomorrow? Although tomorrow is a Monday…"

"But of course!" Trouver smiled broadly. "I'll be sure to call their office and tell them that I have a reporter coming over for research."

"_Merci_, detective. Is that all you have for me?"

"I'm afraid so, _monsieur_. But I'm sure you'll discover more about these murders the longer you stay around." Detective Trouver tipped his hat to the reporter. "Stop by if you find anything more."

"I will, detective." Tintin stood, nodding in response. "Thank you for your time." With that, he walked out of the small café, Snowy quickly jumping up and following at his heels, and into the early afternoon sun.

A/N: Yes, the Blood Ruby _is_ the gem shown on the cover. :)


	10. Chapter 9: The Witness

Chapter Nine – The Witness

The roads near the cove called Anse du Pharo proved to be a great place for tourists to wander. Tourists and two determined pilgrims searching for one face in the flock.

Chang and Ellie strolled through the city, scanning the crowds around them for any sign of Tintin. Thankfully they didn't look too out of place; Chang wasn't the only Asian in the crowd, and there were plenty of Europeans as well, but there was no sign of the ginger-haired reporter they both knew.

"He has to be working on his story," Chang suggested. "If he's still alive and well, he won't stop until he gets it finished."

"There's just one problem," Ellie said, shoving her hands into her pockets. "We know he's here, we just don't know _where_. And we know that's writing about the recent murders, but nothing more. Not to mention the fact that he wasn't even at his hotel, and might not be for a while. How are we supposed to find Tintin in this big city?"

They walked on silently for a moment, both trying to think of a plan that would actually work. Chang was just about to say something when someone tapped Ellie's on the shoulder. Instinctively balling her hands into fists, she turned around to face them.

The person who had tapped on her shoulder was a young girl with black hair. She appeared young enough to still be in grade school. "You know Monsieur Tintin?"

"We do," Chang replied quickly. "We are friends of his."

"I was supposed to meet with him three days ago," the girl continued. "You friends of his know what he was researching, yes?"

Ellie nodded. "The murders in the South of France, yes."

The girl took a quick look around, then started walking along Esplanade du Pharo, one of the small roads running alongside Anse du Pharo. "My name is Louisa. I need you to deliver a message to him for me."

Ellie and Chang looked at each other, shrugged, and followed her in silence.

"I was a witness to the last murder, the one here in Marseille," Louisa started. "I did not know what was happening when a detective asked me to tell what happened to a reporter, but I agreed to it anyway. I was with the detective at the time when Tintin was supposed to come, but he didn't. I went back home, and my parents were gone. There was a note on the table in the kitchen that said, _If you tell anyone what you saw, you'll be next_."

"That's terrible," Ellie murmured as they stopped at the end of the road, where the cove's water lapped at the gravel that edged it. She pushed a rock into the water with her foot. There was no one in sight.

"It was. I have been hiding ever since that. I do not want to be found." Louisa shivered at the thought. "But I saw who the murderer was. He was Asian, like you –" She gestured to Chang for a moment. "– except he was older, possibly fifty years old. He had graying black hair, and a small beard, and he was wearing a business suit. He just pulled a gun from under his coat and shot the man, then walked away. No one else saw it but me. I followed him to a hotel on the west edge of Marseille, and I heard the receptionist say his name."

"What was it?" Ellie inadvertently leaned forward in suspense.

"I was getting there. His name was Monsieur Taka –"

_BANG._

The next thing she knew, Ellie was plunged into the cold, gray water of the Anse du Pharo, waiting for the pain of a fresh bullet wound to register in her mind. It took a few seconds, just enough time for her to resurface, cling to the gravel bank and take a gasping breath, for her to realize that she wasn't in pain. It took her one more moment to notice that Chang was running in the opposite direction, toward a supposedly uninhabited building on the other side of the road with the rusty steel door of a car park. There was movement in a window at the top. A man in a black coat and fedora, staring down at them, disappeared without a sound. But there was something on his coat that looked odd, a marking of some sort –

Louisa!

Taking a deep breath, Ellie dived under the water again, opening her eyes against the sting of the water to search for the girl who just a moment ago had been talking to them. She saw a shape at the bottom of the cove and swam down toward it, grabbing the unmoving girl's arm and struggling back up to the surface. As she started up, she thought she saw a silhouette swimming away from the scene, disappearing against the darkness of the water in the distance. But then she broke to the surface and took a gasping breath, dragged down by the weight of Louisa. She reached out in the general direction of the gravel bank, trying to feel her way to land since her stinging eyes proved no help whatsoever.

Her hand was met by another.

A/N: I'm sorry for not updating much lately, so here are two chapters for today. :) I'll see you around!


	11. Chapter 10: Reunited

**A/N: I'm posting this totally for you, PPG. Since you asked me to and really couldn't wait. :)**

Chapter Ten – Reunited

Tintin walked along the streets of downtown Marseille, the sun throwing its warm rays into his face and giving the streets the feeling of a fresh summer day. It was a beautiful day, a perfect one really: not only was the sun casting the perfect amount of light, but a light breeze swept in from the south and sent a light salty small into the air. "Can you smell it, Snowy?" he asked, taking a look down at his feet. Snowy wasn't there. Looking back, Tintin saw him trotting back with a good bone stuck in his jaws. He shook his head. "If you weren't my longest friend, Snowy, I'd just have to–"

_BANG._

Instinctively, Tintin ducked down and started running. The gunshot sounded slightly far away, and he didn't feel any pain, so he assumed it was someone else being shot at. _Another murder could've just slipped through my fingers!_ Spinning around a corner, he noticed someone thrashing in the water, holding onto some submerged thing that he couldn't see. Just the movement told him that whoever was down there was alive, and that in itself was a good sign. The struggling person reached out toward the road, trying to grab onto the side but being just a foot too far, so he ran over to the edge and met their hand halfway.

Snowy, who had been following Tintin all the way, started barking at the person in the water. But it wasn't a threatening bark; it was more of a bark saying "Hello! Hello! What's going on?"

Ignoring Snowy's frantic barks, Tintin pulled the person back toward the road, letting go of their hand as they dragged themselves onto dry land and coughed, ignoring the fuzzy white dog that was trying to jump up on them. "I…am never…doing that…again!"

Tintin tried to look past the long blond hair and look at their face. "…Ellie?"

"Tintin?" Ellie looked up and flung the hair out of her face. "Tintin! Thank goodness! I was just…" She remembered that other hand was still underwater, so she dragged whatever she was holding onto the road beside her. It was a girl with black hair.

"Who's that?" Tintin's voice gained a fresh layer of worry as he crouched down beside the other girl. She wasn't breathing, and her eyes were glazed over and frozen in an eternally shocked expression.

"Louisa. She said she was a witness…to the latest Marseille murder. She said she was supposed to meet you, but…she couldn't." Ellie coughed a bit of water out of her lungs. "Then there was a gunshot and we both fell into the water. I wasn't hurt."

"Well she was." He pointed to a small hole at her neck; blood was pooling out around it. "She's dead now." His voice sounded hollow, as if he was thinking that he could've saved her somehow.

"She was telling us the name of the man that killed the man in Marseille. She said no one else saw it." Ellie sighed – partly from exhaustion and partly from exasperation.

"'Us?'" Tintin looked at her strangely. "Who's 'us?'"

At that moment, Chang emerged from the derelict building opposite the water, looking slightly upset. "He got away. He didn't leave any – Tintin!"

"Chang!" The two friends hugged for a moment, but stepped back before it could too awkward. "What are you doing here?"

"I had the feeling you were in trouble," Chang said with a smile. "Once I found out about the plane crash in Reims, I followed her."

"You followed her?" Tintin looked back at Ellie, who was now on her feet and wringing out her hair.

"Look at this," she said, brushing off the question and pointing to a silver chain around Louisa's neck. Unclasping it, she noticed something very strange about the pendant. It was shaped like a butterfly, but where there should've been colored jewel wings, there was nothing.

Tintin looked at the pendant for a moment, shaking his head. "Of course they're gone." He took it from her, silently reminding himself to take it to Detective Trouver later. But there was still a question that he had to know the answer to; he turned to Chang. "_You_ followed _her_?"

"What do you mean, 'of course they're gone?' Did you find out anything more about the murders that may help us find the murderer?" Ellie was obviously avoiding the question. Chang rolled his eyes.

"I did find out _something_. I'm heading to a museum in Marseille tomorrow." Tintin picked up the unseeing Louise and turned to Chang. "We need to take her to the hospital. They will know what to do with her."

"I'll go find a phone," Chang replied quickly, then turned and ran off in the direction of the nearest business, disappearing around a corner.

Silence hovered between Tintin and Ellie for a while as they both looked at the sky, the water, the surrounding buildings…nearly everything but each other.

"…Is now a bad time to tell you something?" It was Ellie that spoke first, staring down at her feet.

"I guess not," Tintin replied. "Why?"

"Well, I need to get something off of my chest. I've been meaning to tell you, but I've never gotten the chance." Ellie looked up at him, total seriousness in her voice. "Could you _promise_ to believe me?"

"Of course I would. Why wouldn't I?"

"…I don't know." Ellie looked down at Louisa for a moment, then back up at Tintin. "Well, now is as good a time as ever. I –"

At that moment, Chang ran back down the street toward them, leaning against a building to catch his breath once he neared them. "I'm sorry I took so long. It took me a while before anyone would allow me to use a phone. But there's an ambulance coming now."

"Thank you Chang," Tintin said with a smile, taking just a moment to flash a questioning glance at Ellie. _We'll talk later._

He was answered with silence.


	12. Chapter 11: Return of the Thompsons

A/N: I don't like this chapter as much as some of my others, but it was inevitable.

Chapter Eleven – Return of the Thompsons

When the Mercedes finally stopped outside of the port city's police station, the Captain leaped out and finally took another breath. "Finally, solid ground!" He took a whiff of the salty sea air, streaming in from the sea and into the rest of the country, and felt reenergized by the nearness to the sea.

"Captain, you shouldn't stand out in the middle of the street!" Thomson's voice called out as he stepped out of the car himself. That was when the Captain noticed the queue of cars that was starting to form behind him, all honking and cursing in French. The Captain didn't know French too well, but from what he did understand at least a few of these people were not very happy. He stepped aside, hurling a few choice words – "Carpetsellers! Turncoats! Nanny goats! Blue blistering bell-bottomed balderdashes!" – before stalking over to the sidewalk.

"You don't seem in a good mood today, Captain," Thompson said, handing his colleague his cane and starting toward the police station.

"Not in a good mood?" The Captain shook his head. "You two nitwits are never driving me anywhere ever again! Blistering barnacles!"

"Watch your language, Captain," Thomson warned as they stepped through the front doors and into a small, modern lobby area. "This is official business."

"Good evening, gentlemen!" There was a man behind the front desk of the station, a rather portly man wearing a dark brown leather jacket, nearly buried under paperwork. He greeted them with a welcoming smile. "I am Detective Arnold Trouver. What can I do for you?"

Thomson and Thompson showed their badges. "We're from Interpol," Thomson said. "We are looking for a man by the name of Tintin. Have you seen him?"

Detective Trouver looked surprised. "Tintin? Yes, he came in just yesterday. He's writing an article on –"

"He is under arrest for sabotaging a commercial flight and running from the law," Thompson continued. "Do you happen to know where he is?"

"_Sapristi!_ How could a nice young man like that be running from the law? He's supposed to be visiting a local museum to be doing research for his article! I gave him permission!"

"Blistering barnacles!"

"Captain!" Thompson glared back at the Captain. "I told you –"

"No, look!" The Captain shoved a newspaper at the detectives. The headline: _**PRICELESS GEM STOLEN FROM MUSEUM**_. The black-and-out picture below showed a square-shaped jewel hanging from a chain, sealed inside a glass case. "It says something about a Blood Ruby…"

"Yes, that happened very early this morning," Detective Trouver said with a sigh. "That was among the subjects that Tintin was researching." Then he slightly gasped. "You don't think…?"

"Don't worry, sir, we'll find Tintin and bring him to justice." Thomson tipped his hat to Trouver.

Thompson followed suit. "And if you meet a girl by the name of Alexis Freeman, contact us. She is a possible accomplice, and one person is hard enough to track down."

"Er, alright. Good luck, messieurs," Trouver called after them. But by then they had already left. With a sigh, he went back to his casework. The words written in black on the outside of the file: _**MARSEILLE MURDER TWO. VICTIM: Louisa Douleur.**_

-x-

Ellie woke up early that morning and took a good look out the window of the hotel. She'd already seen it several times over the course of the past few days, but the view of the sea turning crimson in the morning was something else entirely. It definitely wasn't anything she'd ever gotten to experience herself.

Taking her gaze away from the window, she reached for her suitcase, which was lying beside a dressing table on the other side of the room, but stopped. Something sparkled out of the corner of her eye, and she looked up to see a beautiful necklace sitting on the dressing table's surface. It was dark red, square-shaped, and encased in gold with a same-colored chain. "Now where did this come from?" she murmured, careful not to wake Chang, who was still asleep, and held the necklace up to the light. It normally looked almost black, but now it sparkled with shades of red reminiscent to that of the sea. _Chang must have gotten this for me,_ she thought with a smile, _since he was out so late last night. This is just too much. _She fixed it around her neck and tucked it under her shirt, forgetting about it…until later.


	13. Chapter 12: Investigation

Chapter Twelve – Investigation

Three adventurers walked determinedly through the streets of the port city of Marseille, away from the waters of the Mediterranean and toward the one and only _Muséum__d'histoire naturelle de Marseille._ As they wound through the crowds of people out and about enjoying the morning, they filled each other in about what was going on.

"The curse supposedly says that anyone who comes in possession of the Blood Ruby is doomed to be killed by a stab wound," Tintin was saying, glancing at his companions as they neared the museum. "There were a few exceptions, of course, but essentially that's all. And it came from Rome all through Europe before landing here."

_That story sounds strangely familiar…_Ellie thought. She shrugged it off. "And this is what we're coming to see?"

"Yes," Tintin replied with a shrug. "Who knows, it might be able to give me a little more information on the murders, or what the murderers are after."

Chang squinted, as if trying to see past the crowds around them. "Tintin? Are there usually a lot of policemen at this museum?"

"No, not that I know of."

"Then something not good has happened!" Chang ran forward, with his companions on his tail, and broke away from the crowds, the scene finally coming into view. Several cars surrounded the entrance of the museum, the blue lights installed on their roofs flashing brightly. Several men in police uniforms stood in small clumps everywhere from the sidewalk to the front doors, and even more went in or out at any given moment. It was almost like every single police officer in the city was gathered there. The three approached two men who were leaning against one of the cars and exchanging information with one another.

"_Excusez-moi, messieurs_," Tintin started. "Do you know what happened here?"

One of the men, a tall gray-haired man, turned to look at him. "Sorry, _gosse_, but no civilians are allowed to know. Wait until the information reaches the newspapers."

"But I'm a _reporter_. My name is Tintin; Detective Trouver called the museum yesterday to tell them to let me in."

The gray-haired policeman looked at his younger, brown-haired comrade. "Rousseau, do you know anything about a reporter coming here tomorrow? Did anyone tell you anything?"

"Hmm…" Rousseau thought for a moment. "I was told the detective called yesterday about someone, Hal. I'm not sure if they said a reporter, but it might have been. The name 'Tintin' was mentioned."

Hal nodded at Tintin. "Alright, you can go in. …And these two?" He gestured to Chang and Ellie.

"They're with me," Tintin said with a smile, receiving an annoyed glare as they started forward again and entered the museum.

It was, surprisingly, less of a fiasco than outside, with only a few officers darting this way and that carrying information and carrying on investigations. Following one of the men, it wasn't hard to find the scene of the crime: a jewelry case in one area of the museum, standing proudly under its own spotlight as the feature of the gallery, the glass marked with small hexagons that gave away the only clue of its strength. But there was nothing inside of it, and no sign of anyone trying to open it. A few snippets of conversations floated around them: _the glass case wasn't broken;_ _no fingerprints were left; there was no possible way for the thief to enter unless they were let in._

Ellie looked down at her feet – there were too many policemen for her taste – and noticed something strange: there was something lying on the ground at her feet. It appeared to be only a scrap of an old newspaper. That's not strange, she thought, and reached down to pick it up. It wouldn't budge. She pulled harder, and noticed that one edge of it was clamped underneath one of the carpet tiles that lined the floor of the gallery. It was almost as if… "Tintin, look at this!"

Tintin, who had been examining the case, looked back and saw the paper scrap. He leaned down to help her – he received a few quizzical glances in the process, but ignored them. "What is this?"

"I don't know," Ellie murmured, "but I think there's something under this…!" With a final tug, they ripped up the bit of carpet, the newspaper clipping finally giving way and throwing Ellie back onto the floor.

"A secret passage…!" Tintin murmured. "Extraordinary!" It was a great find: a shaft was dug into the ground about ten metres down, a wooden ladder lying at the bottom and disappearing into a corridor. The policemen were on them in an instant, gazing down into the shaft and speaking to each other in French. "This must have been how the thieves got inside!"

Ellie smiled. At least she helped with something. Feeling at least a little accomplished, she glanced down at the newspaper clipping. It was only part of a French political article, but there was a small marking that caught her eye: a rectangle with a line striking through the middle. It was drawn on with light pencil, as if someone sketched it on in a hurry.

"…Ellie?"

It was Tintin that called her name, so she looked up from the paper. The policemen around her all had their hands on their guns, and were all staring right at her. Even Tintin was looking surprisedly in her direction. She looked down at herself. Her red necklace, the one that she had discovered just earlier that day, was hanging from her neck in full view.

"Ellie?" Tintin echoed, not looking up from the necklace. "You remember why we came here, right? To take a look at the Blood Ruby?"

"Yes," she replied warily.

"Well, right now it's hanging around your neck."

_What?! _Ellie sat, dazed, and silently wondered how she got into this mess.

"_Mademoiselle_," one policeman said, pulling Ellie to her feet, "you are under arrest for third degree robbery of one of the most important pieces in this museum's collection."

"I didn't do anything!" she shouted, trying to wrench her arms out of the policeman's grip. "I was –"

"Interpol!" A pair of voices said in unison as a pair of people entered the room, holding badges in their hands. Their bowler hats, canes, and nearly-alike moustaches gave their identities away. "We're here looking for a person."

_Why are they here? Are they going to arrest me for something too?_ Ellie groaned to herself. _Fantastic. Now you're really thinking like a thief._

"Get in line," a young policeman said, gesturing to Ellie. "We've just caught a thief here!"

"I say, Thompson!" Thomson said. "That's the girl that we've been looking for!"

"Indeed," Thompson replied. "We've been trying to find her too!" To the policemen he added, "We'll take it from here, gentlemen."

"What about her _friends_?" the young policeman sneered. "If you can call them that."

Thomson looked at Tintin sadly. "We're very sorry, Tintin, but we have orders to arrest you, too, for sabotage."

Tintin shook his head. "Alright, Thomson." _Not like it's the first time._

"As for you, sir," Thompson said with a glance at Chang, "you can just go home. This is important police work going on here, and civilians shouldn't be getting too close." With that, Ellie and Tintin, escorted by the Thompsons, walked out of the museum and into the late morning air.

Someone was waiting for them.

A/N: This is probably the longest chapter I've written so far. But it's only because I had to fit in so many arrestings at the end there :)


	14. Chapter 13: Detained

**A/N: I'm uber sorry for not updating like I should have! (For those who aren't Germanically inclined, the word _uber_ means 'super' in German.) I'm still trying to get used to it not being summer, and I have projects due literally every day this week. Well, not literally, but it feels like it. I'll try to update at least once a week, probably on weekends, but I can't make any promises!**

Chapter Thirteen – Detained

"Blistering barnacles! It's about time!"

The Captain had been standing beside the black Mercedes parked at the curb the whole time, ever since the Thompsons entered the museum. It may have been a beautiful day, but it seemed like every single policeman was staring directly at him. It's not like he was afraid of them though, no sir. He was just…_Nervous? No – thundering typhoons, I'm not nervous at all…Worried? Well, maybe I am worried about Tintin, but not myself! …Distracted? Ha! Why would I be distracted in a time like this? Now, there's a nice sea breeze to lift the spirits. Ah, that takes me back. Summer of '53, was it? No, it was definitely '56…Now, what was I saying earlier? Oh yes, not distracted…_

It was then, just as his mind was starting to run out of options, that the detectives came into view, with their two detainees walking in front of them.

"Tintin!" The Captain ran forward, plowing through a group of policemen before approaching the group. He started to hug him and noticed the handcuff around the reporter's right wrist. "Billions of blue blistering barnacles! Tintin, what did you do this time?" Then his gaze rested on Ellie, who was looking at him as if he was insane. "And who's that?"

Tintin shrugged. "It sort of a long story, Captain. But in short –" He yanked on his handcuff, which happened to be attached to Thompson. "– I'm being arrested."

"Well, that much is obvious!" The Captain was close to furious now. "But for what? What happened to you? And who is _she_?" He jabbed his finger back in Ellie's direction.

"Thank you for pretending I'm not here," she muttered to herself, rolling her eyes.

"Don't worry, Captain," Thomson said, gesturing with his hand and pulling Ellie's left wrist with it. "We'll explain once we get back to the station."

"You'd better," the Captain murmured. _Thundering typhoons! What has that lad gotten himself into this time?_

-x-

Ten minutes and another confusing car ride later – _we shouldn't have let Thomson drive,_ Ellie thought afterward – Tintin and Ellie were sitting in a nearly empty room, with nothing but a couple chairs and a table decorating the place. They were supposed to be in the police station – although it absolutely nothing like one – waiting for the Thompsons to approach them about their charges.

Tintin kept his gaze on the door, waiting for someone to finally open it and take notice of them. Ellie sat in the chair beside him and stared down at the dark red stone of the necklace still dangling from her neck, tapping her foot anxiously. "I shouldn't be in here," she said suddenly, her voice soft and definitely nervous.

Tintin spared a glance up at her. "What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you later. I can't be in here..." Before she knew it, she was rambling. "Why did they think _I_ was the one who did it? I would never try to steal anything! This is ridiculous! I shouldn't be anywhere close to a police station! You believe me, right, Tintin?"

Tintin looked surprised at the sudden question. "Of course I do."

"Of course you don't! You think I'm a terrible person, that's the problem! You think I –" She suddenly stopped, not fully expecting an answer. "What did you say?"

"Of course I believe you," Tintin said with a slight chuckle. "Someone who'd go through all the trouble of looking for me surely wouldn't go and do that. And I know how you feel. I've been in this situation before."

"You've been arrested before?"

"Well, yes. Several times, actually." Tintin shrugged dismissively. "But every time it was a misunderstanding."

"Oh." Ellie shook her head. "Well if you say it like _that_…"

Silence drifted between them for the longest time, as if they were on opposite sides of the earth rather than sitting right next to each other.

All of a sudden, Ellie looked up. "Do you have a watch?"

Tintin nodded. He had stashed it in his pocket earlier that morning, so he grabbed it and glanced at its face. "The time is –"

"I don't need the time! I'll buy you a new watch," she said before snatching it out of his hand and taking off the back.

"What are you doing?"

"I read it in a book once," she murmured, sifting through the innards of the watch. "Some sort of scale for measuring minerals. According to it, the harder minerals – like diamonds, rubies, others like them – are supposed to scratch the softer minerals. And if I remember correctly…" She paused, pulling something out of the watch's remains. It looked something like a tiny crystal. "…quartz is somewhere in the middle." She unclasped the necklace from her neck and looked at it closely an carefully before making the tiniest scratch on the edge of the crown. She grinned with relief. "This is a fake!" _So where would the real one be?_

"And I thought I was the only one that read things in books." Tintin shook his head ruefully. "Ellie, you're a genius! I never would have thought of anything like that!"

"Thanks." Ellie bent her head, scraping up the remains of Tintin's watch. She made sure he didn't see her grin a little more.

-x-

It was another few minutes more before the Thompsons reappeared at the door. "We're sorry to keep you waiting," Thomson said almost emotionlessly. "We had some, er, _issues_ with the filing."

"To be precise," Thompson added, "the filing cabinet sort had some issues with us." Ellie held back a chuckle as he continued. "But that's not what we're here to say, Tintin."

Thompson produced a file from somewhere just outside the room and started looking through it. "As a matter of fact, we were never really suspecting you at all." He pulled out a photo of a man and handed it to Tintin. "Do you recognize this man?"

"Vaguely," Tintin replied, looking the photo over carefully. "I believe he was on the plane from Brussels."

"Precisely." Thomson took a paper from his colleague and read it over as he spoke. "He's the other missing person from that flight. We've been trying to track him down, but it seems that we can't find very much about him. His name is Éric Lefevre; he isn't married, has lived in France his entire life, and has made a few trips to China, but aside from a few charts and numbers we can't figure out anything else."

Ellie glanced at the copies of receipts as Thompson flipped through them in the file. There were a few for different restaurants, clothing stores, jewelry shops… "Wait!"

Everyone else looked up. "What is it?" Thomson asked confusedly.

"That receipt…" Ellie pulled the newspaper shred that she found in the museum from her pocket, glancing down at the symbol on it and back up at the receipt on the top of the stack receipt. A perfect match. "What is it from?"

Thompson paused, pulling the receipt copy from the file. "It's a receipt from a jewelry store in China. In English, its name is China Bridge Jeweler."

"China…" Tintin thought for a moment. "Why would a French man be in China?"

"It could be several reasons," Thomson started. "Maybe he has family there, or friends. Or he might have a business partner there…"

Bringing her attention away from the conversation, Ellie tried to put the pieces together. _A stolen jewel. A crate bound for Hong Kong. The logo of a Chinese jeweler. The name Takahashi. A missing French man…What was that about a business partner?_ "Detectives, do you know where China Bridge is located?"

"China Bridge has several locations across the western Pacific Coast," Thompson started. "Wenzhou, Shanghai, Beijing, Hong Kong…There are even a few locations on the largest islands of Japan. It's a very extensive company."

"But either way," Thomson added, "you're not going anywhere, miss. You're still under arrest. Did you get your article into your newspaper, _Alexis_?"

"Newspaper?" Tintin took a glance at Ellie. "Alexis? What's he talking about?"

"Okay, that might have been a bit much," she murmured, scratching her head nervously. "But that's behind us. The fact of the matter is, the other day, I saw someone handing a crate to a crewman of a ship bound for Hong Kong."

"That's not too strange," Tintin said. "This port collects ships from all over the world. How much of a difference could _one_ make?"

Ellie paused there, chewing her lip in thought. And then it clicked. "I need to make a phone call."

**A/N: I'm sorry, this was a really bad chapter. I thought it would be better when I first started it. :) And it was originally two chapters, but I combined them because they were terrible by themselves. As always, I accept critiques, ideas, and random assorted smiley faces! :)**


	15. Chapter 14: Convicts Use Cell Phones

Chapter Fourteen – Convicts Use Cell Phones

Silence. It was the kind of silence where everybody's attention was simultaneously focused on one person, and that person simply refused to look back at her audience, therefore making it awkward for everyone. That's beyond the point, though.

It was about 5 o'clock in the afternoon, and really what everyone wanted to do was go home and forget that this whole murder business ever happened.

Finally, the line clicked. "Hello?"

Ellie breathed a silent sigh of relief. "Chang, it's Ellie. You're back at the hotel?"

"Yes. The policemen at the museum made me leave after you and Tintin were taken away. What's going on?"

"I'll explain later." She shifted the receiver so that it rested against her shoulder and took the China Bridge receipt from Thompson. "But right now, I need to ask you something: on your walk last night, did you see anything...strange?"

Chang went silent with thought. "Well," he responded after a moment, "I thought I saw a person stepping through the window when I returned, but I had assumed that it was just a large bird, or my imagination. Why do you ask?"

Her gaze scanned the receipt once more, staring down carefully at the faded gray font. "We may have just found a vital clue in finding the murderer and theif. Now, I need you to look in my suitcase – it should be beside my bed – and – "

"You're sharing a hotel room?" Thomson interrupted cheekishly, and quickly turned away to avoid Ellie's sour glare.

"...And see if there are any black clothes in it."

On the other end of the line, Chang sounded more nervous than ever. "Are you sure about that?"

Ellie shook her head, rubbing one temple anxiously. "Please.

Chang sighed loudly. "Alright." For several minutes afterward, there was no sound. Then, the sound of clothes being shifted around. Then... "Nothing."

Of course it's gone! "You've been to Hong Kong before?"

"Yes. I've visited with my uncle once or twice."

"Good. Meet me at the Salvador Allende roundabout in one hour. We have a murderer to find." With that, she hung up the phone and turned to her companions. "Hong Kong."

Tintin stood from his seat against the wall, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Hong Kong?"

"Hong Kong." Ellie smiled amusedly. "No one saw the person who stole the Ruby, and there were no fingerprints."

"He could have been wearing gloves."  
"Mine were stolen sometime last night, along with several other pieces of black clothing. And he planted this –" She touched the dark red jewel around her neck. "– on me."

"He knew who you are."

"Maybe. Maybe it was just a lucky shot; we may never know. But he left a single clue." She waved the paper scrap in the air, the one displaying a rectangle with a line crossing through the middle. "This is the logo of China Bridge. Why would a jeweler steal a precious stone from a museum?"

"If he was bankrupt." Tintin took the receipt from Ellie and scanned the words. At the bottom, it said: **Stock Reduction Sale, August 8 to September 18.**

Ellie crossed her arms pleasantly. "We need to get to Hong Kong. Now."

-x-

Oh look, it's another side plot within the story that a lot of you readers can't keep up with. Did you leave the last time I introduced the multiple side plots, about nine chapters ago? Probably not, considering that they all most likely didn't come back. So congratulations: you're one of the good ones. Most likely. I'll let you stop reminiscing and get to the story now. For everyone's sakes.

It was nearly midnight in Hong Kong, and an large cargo ship had just pulled into the harbor, letting off its crew for a little R & R in one of the most populous cities in the word. The Slovenian phrase _Ladja iščete_ was scrawled in large white letters along the bow. And for once, it couldn't have been more right.

A single figure walked toward it, determination buried within the dark pools that were his eyes. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of a black rain jacket, protecting them against the chill that was beginning to form in the Northern Hemisphere autumn. A white design decorated the breast of the jacket: a white rectangle with a white line striking through its middle. He purposefully walked up to one of the remaining shipmates, who happened to be carefully unloading crates onto the dock. The mariner looked up with a neutral gaze; he appeared to be drunk, strained, and half-asleep at the exact time.

"Do I know you?"

"Not yet." The first man spoke with a Welsh accent. "My name is Blevins. You spoke with my colleague, Takahashi, in Marseille?"

The mariner thought for a moment, scratching his bearded chin. "...Yeah, I remember 'im. What about it?"

"He requested a small crate to be transported to Hong Kong, did he not? I'm here to collect it."

"Why won't he come get it?"

"He's..._unavailable_ right now." Blevins smiled in a way that made the mariner momentarily consider jumping into the ocean behind him to avoid him. He ignored the feeling.

"Alright." The mariner walked, heavy-footed, up to the main deck of the _Ladja iščete_ and returning a moment later with a wooden box, small enough to carry in his arms without falling over. "Here."

"Thank you kindly." Blevins took hold of the crate, placed it on the ground, and stuck his right hand in his jacket pocket again. That was the last thing that the mariner saw in his life; the sound of a gunshot was the last sound.

Giving their international delivery boy a last warm smile, Blevins picked up the crate and nudged the corpse into the sea with the toe of his shoe. "Pleasure doing business with you," he commented, and swiftly turned and disappeared into the buzz of the city.

**A/N: I'm sorry for the phone pun in the title of this chapter. All I can say is: I didn't make it up. :)**

**PS, brownie points for anyone who actually bothers to figure out what the phrase _Ladja iščete_ means.**


	16. Chapter 15: Six is a Crowd

Chapter Fifteen – Six is a Crowd

It was morning two days later by the time the airplane dipped down over the Chinese landscape, sailing effortlessly over infinite rows of rice and cherry trees. Despite the time, the sun was directly above, projecting a large birdlike shadow over the fields below them. The plane was a Boeing 747, sleek and broad-nosed, given a conventional white paint job with the words **AIR FRANCE** scrawled along the sides in blue. The plane itself carried few passengers; "few" is to say only 100 people were aboard, rather than the capacity of 600. And only six sat in business class.

"_Attention passengers."_ The pilot's voice, speaking in a clipped French accent, echoed through the cabin. "_We will be landing in Hong Kong shortly. Please remain seated until we reach Hong Kong International Airport." _

The two teenagers who sat in the very front glanced out their window overlooking the metropolis and shared a glance, smiling excitedly. "Hong Kong," the girl said with a sparkle in her eyes. "Finally."

Meanwhile, two rows behind them, a separate pair of teenagers examined them carefully.

"They seem familiar," Ellie commented quietly, not wanting to arouse attention to themselves.

Tintin nodded slightly. "Strange." Unable to find any more words, he drew his gaze away from the teenagers to his friend. "Have you ever flown before?"

"Oh yes," Ellie responded quickly. "I would fly with my father whenever he would travel. It was fantastic, just the two of us."

"...What about your mother? Wouldn't she come along as well?" Tintin regretted mentioning it as soon as he saw her eyes. The adventurous spark that had been in her eyes disappeared, and they grew hollow with sorrow. He looked down nervously. "I'm sorry..."

"Don't be." Ellie shook her head slightly. "You had nothing to do with it." She paused for a moment, noticing his curious gaze laced with worry, and decided to continue. "Years ago – I think I was only six or seven at the time – when my family and I still resided in London, my mother was the manager of a small bakery located beside a police station. Every day she would be the first to open its doors, and the last to leave them. It was just like any other day, and she left for work early. I'm not too sure of what happened after that, but when she unlocked the door a policeman approached her. He said that she was breaking and entering, and he was arresting her. She tried to show him sense, but he wouldn't listen. He just kept yelling at her, and finally took out his gun and fired." She didn't have to say anything for Tintin to know what happened next. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder, feeling her flinch back a little in surprise.

"After a while," Ellie continued, her voice cracking for a moment, "I realized that the policeman was probably drunk, and not in his right mind, but that was just enough for me to not trust them again." She shivered.

Tintin looked away for a moment, searching for the right words to say. "...Thomson and Thompson are policemen, you know."

Ellie looked up at him, staring silently at his eyes to see if he was really serious. "That's not funny," she said to him. "I don't appreciate jokes."

"It wasn't a joke. They're detectives for Interpol."

Ellie shook her head skeptically and crossed her arms. "The way they act, you would think they were children."

Tintin smiled. There wasn't a time the Thompsons were around that he didn't consider then notion.

-x-

The ragtag band of investigators hiked through the crowded streets of Hong Kong, all eyes searching for a certain address. Chang, because of his role as unofficial translator, headed the group, holding the receipt from China Bridge Jewelers tightly in his fist. Behind him were Tintin and Ellie, and the Captain just behind them; the Thompsons had made a mad dash for the nearest police station for backup. ("They would surely respect a highly esteemed pair of Interpol detectives such as ourselves!" Needless to say, Ellie didn't miss them once they left.)

"We should be close," Chang announced suddenly, glancing from the receipt to a street sign just above. There was a group of Chinese symbols, then a translation in English; the sign read _Wing Hong Street_. They wound in between Chinese pedestrians and delivery vans, glancing through the windows of derelict business places to find any sign of China Bridge. Chang stopped suddenly. "Here it is."

The building nothing more than a warehouse fallen into disrepair; massive roll-up doors concealed the front window, and the main entryway, a standard-sized metal security door, was closed and locked tightly. Faded black lettering above the doors proclaimed its message in Chinese only, and a sheet of paper that was attached to the wall with duct tape flapped in the sudden breeze. In English it read: _closed until further notice_.

The Captain paused and stared at the building. "You're kidding, right?"

Chang shook his head. "This is the address. But it appears," he joked, "to not be very popular at the moment."

"We need to find a way in," Tintin announced, approaching the door and trying the handle. "Locked." He glanced at the keyhole, silently wondering if he had anything that he could use to pick the lock...

"What are you three waiting for?"

Tintin glanced up. Ellie was currently on the opposite side of a rusted gate that stood just to the left of the abandoned jeweler, a bit of rust hanging loose in her hair. The worn hole at the bottom of the gate, only two feet high and across, was just large enough for her to crawl through.

"Every respectable business has a back way," she stated, unlatching the inner lock to the gate and starting into the darkened alleyway. Snowy detached himself from Tintin's side and followed after her at a trot.

"Blistering barnacles," the Captain murmured, following Tintin and Chang into the alley. "Taking directions from a girl."

Chang chuckled lightly. "Don't worry, Captain. You will probably get used to it."

The alley went on for about 6 meters, then abruptly stopped. Pale light shone onto the door at the rear of the building, lighting up the dirt and grime that had accumulated over years of disrepair. An old motorbike rested against the wall beside the door. Ellie turned the handle, and the door swing open before her. She shot a smug look at her companions. "There's always a back way."

Warning bells went off in Tintin's head. Why would a closed business keep their back door unlocked? He took a cautious step inside, then another, and his friends followed.

The room the door lead into was white. The ceiling, the walls, the tile floor; it was completely white, and spotless, a pleasant change from the filth of the exterior. Tintin inspected the door opposite the one they entered through, trying to glance under the "Be sure not to close the –"

_CLANG._

"– door." Tintin sat up and glanced back at the Captain, who tried to hide his guilty expression with a scowl. A soft hiss

"What was that?" the Captain barked. Out of all the times he wasn't in the mood for one of Tintin's little adventures, this was the worst.

"Air conditioning," Ellie disregarded the Captain's words and pressed against the wall to get around him. The room was quickly getting stuffy, and she was almost beginning to feel lightheaded.

Then, a strange smell entered the air, an almost overpoweringly sweet smell that was all too familiar to Tintin. He looked up and finally noticed the two tiny spouts on either wall that were constantly spraying the suspicious gas. He could hear someone stumble and slap the wall – most likely the Captain, because of the _t__hundering son of a sea-gherkin_ that followed.

"It's a trap," he murmured, before the gas kicked in and he plummeted into darkness.

**A/N: I'm sorry I haven't been updating as frequently lately. I've had a lo going on recently, and I probably won't be updating very much in November either. (For those of you who don't know, November is National Novel-writing Month.) Thank you all for being as patient and dedicated as you are. :)**


	17. Chapter 16: Left for Dead

**A/N: Wow, after this (long) chapter there will only be one left in Murder in Marseille. Let's all just savor the moment...then start reading.**

Chapter Sixteen – Left for Dead

The first thing he was aware of upon regaining consciousness was the splitting headache that decided to make its presence just behind his eyes.

Tintin knew the feeling, and he knew it well. Chloroform hangovers were always the worst, especially considering the circumstances surrounding them. Too many times in his career he's been chloroformed and dragged to an undisclosed location, only to be tied to a chair for when he finally regained consciousness. Every time it happened, he silently wished that he was at home and was just suffering from too much alcohol.

It wasn't until after this brief thinking session that he bothered to open his eyes. Bright sunlight streamed in from somewhere above him, searing at his eyes and forcing him to squint to avoid it. After a minute he could see again: he was in some sort of warehouse, lined with work benches and wooden crates. He couldn't hear cars passing by outside, or any noises, for that matter. He almost jumped with fright when he heard a quiet groan behind him.

"...My head..."

_Chang._ "Are you alright?" Tintin slurred, his throat like sandpaper and his tongue like a concrete block. It took all of his power just to speak.

"I think so..." Tintin felt a tug on the rope holding his wrists behind him, so he could only assume they were both tied together. "...Where are we?"

"Someplace quiet." Ellie's voice accompanied Chang's. Tintin could see the blonde sheen of her hair out of the corner of his eye. "...Why do I feel like someone's trying to cut open my head with an axe?"

The Captain said nothing, although he could have said anything he wanted to at the moment. He had been the first to get his mind to come back to the real world, but he had nothing to say. Except for one thing: _when I find that insolent porcupine that tied me up here I'm gonna gut him like a fish..._

"It was chloroform," Tintin responded, closing his eyes for a moment to expel the sudden wave of nausea that had washed over him. "It was a trap."

"But where's the captor...?"

Silence riddled the warehouse. Not one person spoke for what seemed like forever – Tintin could swear that even the sun took a break from its westerly descent to join in the silence.

"I can reach the rope." Chang's voice once again cut through the silence, accompanied by a sudden tug on all of their wrists. "I can get it untied in a minute."

"Good job, Chang," Ellie murmured, already feeling the rope loosen around her wrists. "We have to –"

The Captain interrupted her in an instant. "Someone's coming."

Indeed, a shadowed figure pushed open a door on the far wall and walked purposefully around them, pausing at a workbench containing a small wooden crate. With one fluid motion he picked up a crowbar and pried off the lid to peer into its contents. He gazed levelly at the crate then picked up two items from behind it – suspiciously gun- and knife-shaped – and stowed them away in his pocket. "You four are far from your homes, aren't you?" He spoke with a distinctly Welsh accent.

In an instant, Ellie's heart sank. It just wasn't possible. There was no way that it could be _him_. She tried to ignore her worry, but she just couldn't let it go.

"Of course you are. Investigators never keep to one place." The man chuckled to himself and reached a hand inside of the crate. "I must admit, you have done a wonderful job. I should congratulate you all."

"You...you technocrat! Coelacanth! Misguided missile! Fancy-dress freebooter!" The Captain, thankfully, had quickly gone back to his old self. "Who are you, you paranoiac?"

The man simply chuckled again. "If you'd calm yourself, sir, I could tell you." He stepped out of the shadows and revealed his face: dirty chestnut-colored hair and dark eyes sparkling with cruel amusement. "I am, of course, unfamiliar to most of you." He stared right at Ellie. If looks could kill, her murder would have been bloody.

Ellie stared into the eyes of her captor, her eyes widening, fear coursing through her veins and pounding at her head. He was the last person she ever expected to see. "_Lenny?_"

"Hello, Miss Baxter," 'Lenny' replied with a kind smile like that of a shark. "I'm glad that you aren't as dim-witted as I thought you had become. But could you at least call me by my _real_ name?"

"Don't talk to her like that!" Tintin shouted. He could feel the rope drop from around his wrists, but didn't dare move. "How do you know her?"

Ellie answered before 'Lenny' could respond. "His name is Leonardo Blevins. We work together – if you could say that. He actually works for _me_. Why aren't you in Wales?" Her last question was directed at Blevins, but he just brushed it off.

"Why aren't _you_ in Belgium? You see, when you start blaming others, it just bounces right back." Blevins continued before he could be interrupted again. "Now, I'm going to tell you why you are here and what has been happening."

The Captain started to retort, but was stopped by the click of a gun's safety and the sudden sight of a pistol being shoved into his face.

"You were saying, sir?" Blevins asked, only receiving a reluctant grunt in return. He put down the gun and examined his knife.

"First things first – and I am only telling you this because you will all be dead within the next few minutes. You are in a warehouse just outside of Xinling, a small town near Hong Kong. Not to worry, you are still in China. This warehouse is rented from a carpenter who works nearby. You are all tied back to back – I'm sure you've figured that out on your own." He offered them a cheeky smile. "As you know, the China Bridge Jeweler in Hong Kong has gone out of business, and the owner, a man by the name of Takahashi, wanted revenge. He hired three men to join him in his quest for power and revenge, and I happen to be one of them." He suddenly turned to Tintin. "Ginger boy. You were a part of the Shadowwalker Temple expedition, yes?"

Tintin narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Why would that concern you?"

"You may know one of my colleagues who were on the expedition with you. Blonde, Australian, nearly killed you for the sake of several of your enemies, went by the name of Anteros? His real name is Collins. He is American, and is currently dead from..._food poisoning_."

"You...you've gone bloody mad!" Ellie growled. "Where's Takahashi?"

"Oh, you haven't heard?" Blevins asked with mock worry. "It was in the newspapers this morning." He grabbed a crumpled paper from behind him and unfolded it. Although it was in Chinese, there were notes in English written sloppily in the margins. She only had to read three words to get the picture: **JEWELER FOUND DEAD**.

"Who do you think you are?" Chang shouted, at the moment not caring whether he was heard or not. "Why would you kill two people for your own sake?"

Blevins simply shrugged and admired his reflection in the blade of the knife. "They were getting in the way. Now, what am I forgetting..." He saw a glint of red and looked up at the red necklace that still hung around Ellie's neck. "That's it. The Blood Ruby. I'm sure you're wondering why anyone would steal your little costume and plant fake evidence on you."

"I've been wondering," she said snappishly, with a slight glare.

Blevins took a step toward her and took hold of the necklace, smiling devilishly when he saw her flinch back. "It was not a coincidence that you were found with this so-called evidence." He turned the jewel over in his hand. "It was also not a coincidence that a plane bound for Marseille crashed outside of Reims. You see, everything was planned very carefully. We knew what plane would be taken, what witnesses would be asked to –"

"Who was the third?" Tintin glanced once at the pistol, but held his head high. But rather than shooting him, Blevins only chuckled. There was something maniacal about that chuckle.

"Yes, I almost forgot about him. Did you know that rubies supposedly turn black when their owners are in danger? That is what he told me. He was a former kleptomaniac, and a good one at that, so he was the mastermind behind the heist of the Ruby. He slipped in and out of the museum – and Miss Baxter's hotel room – without a trace. He was an absolute genius. You might know him, ginger boy. A man by the name of Partisan?"

The name circulated through Tintin's mind for a moment, then found the memory connecting it. It was of a little brown-haired girl, no older than six, running circles around Snowy. "Monsieur Partisan! Where is he?" he demanded.

"I have a photograph of him here." Blevins took a photograph out of his pocket and showed it to the boy reporter. Ellie saw a streak of red; she turned away.

"You killed him. Why? What problems did you have with –"

Blevins aimed the gun directly at Tintin's forehead, his facial expression becoming one of disguised contempt. "The same one I'm having with you. I'm used to getting what I want, and_ he_ was getting on my nerves." He thought for a moment, gazing at each of his prisoners before glancing back at Tintin. "I'm going to kill you first. Then your bearded friend and the Chinese boy. I might let Miss Baxter go, as long as she doesn't run and tell her father on me."

"Not on your life," Ellie hissed.

"So be it. And by the way...I quit." Blevins looked back at the reporter, his finger on the trigger, barely moving it a centimeter.

The next few moments were all blurred into each other. Just before the shot Ellie leaped up from her chair and advanced on Blevins; he turned and lashed out at her with the knife in his right hand, shooting a bullet into the far corner of the room; a blood-curdling scream, then she was on the ground.

The Captain and Chang were on their feet in an instant, surprisingly fast considering the shock that they all felt would have left a normal person paralyzed with confusion. They more or less tackled Blevins before could get out another shot, all the while hitting him with circumstantially accurate names. ("Abominable snowman! Crook! Turncoat! Brute! Scoffing braggart!" Okay, maybe it was the Captain doing most of the talking.)

Tintin, on the other hand, was down on his knees beside Ellie. She was staring up at the ceiling with a glassy-eyed gaze, breathing laboriously. A spot of red was forming around a slice in her shirt. "What...what just happened?"

"First, you saved my life," Tintin responded quickly, thankfully. He could heard the first sirens of police cars in the distance, and knew the Thompsons where on their way. "Don't move too much. You'll be at the hospital in no time. Just...can you hear me?"

At the time, she couldn't. Her expression turned blank, and she couldn't really feel or hear anything. Her vision wavered in and out of focus. She could think just fine, but her body wouldn't listen; it was almost as if her sanity had left her physical body and was standing and watching from a distance. At some point in time the blood spot on her left side had grown into a small, sticky puddle. The faux-Ruby hanging from her neck was almost black in comparison.

For just a moment she saw Chang and the Captain over Tintin's shoulder, holding Blevins at gunpoint and tying him up, their faces turned toward her in worry. Tintin himself kneeled over her, calling out her name in a desperate attempt to catch her focus. He suddenly looked over his shoulder as a door opened behind him, making way for two nameless figures in black.

She couldn't stay awake any longer. She fell into the darkness just beyond reach, and Ellie Baxter was gone.


	18. Epilogue: Old News

**A/N: Were you confused by the last part of chapter 16? Yeah, you were supposed to be. :)**

***The term second storey used here is British English; to Americans, that would be the third story.**

Epilogue – Old News

The newspaper was dated October 19th. The headline: **GIRL FOUND DEAD IN SOUTH CHINA SEA**.

Hong Kong – Last night, a young girl was discovered on the beach of Wailingding Island. A worker at the Dangan Daosheng Ji Nature Reserve, located on southern Wailingding, had been watching the sun rise and was horrified to see the body laying in the surf, unmoving. "I could not believe my eyes," he had said upon questioning. "I ran to tell my manager, and then called the police. I could not believe someone would do such a thing."

After careful investigation, police have deduced that she had been thrown in the sea just after being murdered with a stab to the back. The intentions and whereabouts of the murderer are currently unknown, but it is possible that he may still be at large somewhere in the Hong Kong area...

-x-

"You're sure that you can't do anything more?"

A ginger-haired reporter tapped his foot anxiously as he stood waiting at the reception desk of a building on the outskirts of Hong Kong, listening closely as a tall, lean man translated his question into Chinese for the receptionist. She was a short, thick woman with a pair of copper spectacles resting on the bridge of her nose. Just like almost everyone else, she had shiny black hair and beady brown eyes, which bored into the reporter as she spurted out another reply to the man beside her.

The translator, whose nameplate read Mihamoto, turned back to the reporter. "She said that we just can't. We have other, more important problems at the moment. She is sorry."

The ginger boy gave a dejected sigh, glancing down at his feet. "Alright. I suppose you do...But you do know where my friend is staying, yes?"

"She does," Mihamoto answered as the receptionist flipped through a book with lists of names and numbers. "Room 306. That's on the second storey*."

"Thank you." The reporter gave a slight nod before walking briskly away toward the stairs. It took him two minutes to hike up the concrete steps, and it took a minute longer to find the room number. Several of the doors were open, and he sneaked a peek into each one: every patient was Asian, most were sleeping, and a few didn't look like they would ever wake again.

Shaking off his negative thoughts, he approached the door embellished with the numbers 306, spelled out in brass just above eye level. He cautiously opened the door and took a single step inside.

The room was lined with medial equipment, each piece with its own set of flashing lights and monitors. A bed was stuffed into one corner, with two chairs pressed against its side, and an empty plastic table stood against the adjacent wall. He couldn't see the patient's face, because they had a newspaper open in front of them, but he noticed a lock of blonde hair peeking out from around the paper's edge. He rapped his knuckles on the door frame; two emerald eyes poked out from beneath the paper.

"Hello, Tintin!" Ellie said with a smile, lowering the newspaper. "I didn't hear you come in."

"The Captain's sorry that he couldn't come with me. He had other important things to do." Tintin stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed for a moment, then helped himself to one of the chairs.

"Really?" Ellie slightly arched one eyebrow. "Like what?"

"...I have no idea," Tintin admitted, giving her a lopsided smile. He glanced down at the newspaper in her lap. "What's that?"

"Oh, it's an old newspaper, from nearly twenty years ago." Ellie handed it to him. "It was the only thing this hospital has that's in English. And, between you and me, I think I would have gone insane if all I'd seen and heard was Chinese."

Tintin unfolded the newspaper and scanned the article, shaking his head slightly. He put it down after moment. "I'd almost forgot what I came here for. How are you feeling?"  
"I've been better. I think the painkillers are doing a great job, though." She smiled timidly. "The doctors are letting me out tomorrow."  
"That's fantastic! You should drop by Marlinspike sometime when you return to Belgium. I'm sure the Captain wouldn't mind."

She gave this notion some thought, nodding a little. "I might have to do that."

Tintin simply smiled, obviously not replying any time soon. He didn't seem to have too much to say.

Ellie, obviously trying to avoid any sort of awkward silence, spoke up without missing a beat. "What happened after I fell unconscious, in the warehouse?"

"Well," Tintin started, looking straight at her, "just before you blacked out, the Thompsons came in and arrested that Welsh man, Blevins. They said that they'd seen a delivery truck leave the China Bridge building just as they arrived – with members of the Hong Kong police – and followed it to the warehouse. They had to stay back, because they weren't sure whether the man driving would be armed, or even a suspect. They finally came in when they heard the gunshot.

"Right now, he's in prison in Wales, on request – he said he wanted to be near family if he was going to be in jail."

"What I've learned," Ellie replied solemnly, "is to never trust him. The last time he said he was visiting family...Well, obviously it didn't end well.

Tintin shrugged lightheartedly. "It can always be worse."

"That's true...But, if I were you, I would be at least a _little_ upset that I was almost shot today."

"Don't worry about me." Without warning, Tintin started laughing, lightly and wholeheartedly. "I'm used to it."

Without thinking, she laughed along with him. Her wounded side stung slightly, the pain numbed with painkillers. But that wasn't what pained her. It was the lies.

She couldn't tell him how serious it was. The wound was actually much worse than they had originally thought; the knife had severed an artery and knocked one rib out of place. The doctors had seen that right away, and had taken over an hour to put it back, but even now the only things holding it together were stitches.

She couldn't tell him what she had told the doctors. She knew she should have stayed longer – at least a week more, they had originally said. She had told them a terrible lie, that she was the only one working for her family, that she was the one who had to put food on the table. Of course, they believed her. They probably knew some people like that themselves.

She couldn't even tell him how she really felt about him.

Why couldn't she tell him? He was her best friend. Her only friend, actually. Tintin was different from every other person she'd ever met; he would stand by her all the way, could fight a man twice his size for her sake, and made sure that she was alright, even when no one else seemed to notice her problems. Her other friends had come and gone, but she had a feeling he'd stick around for a while. And she knew that she couldn't let herself lose him.

_Not now..._she told herself. _Not now..._

-x-

It can take normal people weeks, months, even years to discover something exciting, and to allow it to whisk you away into the journey of a lifetime. But for one band of misfits, it only took six days for their worlds to be turned upside-down once again.

**A/N: A cliffhanger at the end of a story! You know what that means...a sequel is coming! But first, I'd like to list a few people who were with me all the way during the making of this fanfic:**

**PeppyGothChick **(even though you don't know I'm talking about you, but you're still a supportive friend no matter what :D)

**Pink-Pencil-Girl303**

**RocknRollagirl **

**and...**

**All of those anonymous readers out there who kept up with the story even in its darkest hours, especially the reviewers! Thank you all for being so supportive even through my (numerous) bad moments! You guys rock!  
Be on the lookout for the third installment of the Shadowwalker trilogy. It's called _Into the Scorpion's Den_, and more likely than not I'll publish the first chapter within the next 48 hours. **

**In addition, I'll be rewriting _Legend of the Shadowwalker_, and I'll be starting that in December. So if you see _Shadowwalker_ suddenly disappear, DON'T PANIC. It'll be back soon. :)**

**Feel free to offer advice and story ideas, and I hope you'll enjoy them!  
~RandomPerson164**


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